


and I know it well

by Ejunkiet



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Bittersweet and very loving, Established Relationship, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Soft and sentimental feelings, an insight into the relationship between mason and a detective that chooses to remain mortal, feat. mismatched socks and discussions on ghosts, gift fic collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: When is a monster not a monster? // Oh, when you love it. - Caitlyn Siehl
Relationships: Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 61





	1. and i know it well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_bunny_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/gifts).



> _You said, "Ain't this just like the present,  
>  To be showing up like this?"  
> As a moon waned to crescent,  
> We started to kiss._
> 
> _And I said I know it well._
> 
> Blood Bank - Bon Iver
> 
> \--
> 
> a very soft and gentle collection of gift fics. mason centric <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason and Winter, and their 20th anniversary
> 
> \--
> 
> _"It's not too late, you know. To change your mind." His voice is low, barely more than a whisper against her skin, breath warm, lips soft at her temple._
> 
> _“I think it is.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a gift fic for @narrativefoiltrope, whose mortal detective made me feel things <3

The years have crept up on her.

In a lot of ways, she still looks the same way she has since her twenties, her mother’s genetics working in her favour as much as her father’s had worked against it. But the passage of time has settled over her, and the signs are there as she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror, more obvious as time goes on.

The lines around her eyes are a little deeper, the baby fat that once rounded her cheeks lost with maturity, marking out the angular lines of her cheekbones. The soft features of her youth are finally behind her, traded for a sharpness she recognises, something she had seen in her mother over the years.

“Beautiful,” Mason had murmured in her ear that morning, his hands snaking around her waist to settle against her stomach, his palms wide and heated against her skin.

She’d smiled at that, leaning into him, the solid, steady line of him against her back. Ever so familiar and unchanged, even after two decades.

If she’s being honest with herself, she hasn’t noticed the years go by. It’s different, with an immortal partner, so much about him untouched by time - and they’ve grown together, started a family together, navigating the many trials that his life and her bloodline had entailed. 

It has been nearly a decade since they had last talked about the question of her mortality and agreed that she would remain human. She’s comfortable with her decision, and she believes he is too, as much as he can be.

Still, she sees the looks Felix has thrown their way over the years when he'd come to visit, the confusion in his expression as he'd opened his mouth to ask - what, she could only guess. It had taken little more than a glare from Mason for him to bolt up, expression smoothing before he'd switched back to safer topics, his go-to charming smile back in place - but she knows that he doesn’t understand it. Won’t understand it, until the end.

She’s seen the muted sadness in Nate’s gaze as he watches them, a soft smile on his lips, and knows that he’ll be the one that explains it: the reality of her decision, and what it means. 

She knows that he will be there for Mason, after - and she’s grateful for it.

\--

For now though, she’s living in the present. The future stretches before her, vast and unknowable, and she finds comfort in her routine, the familiarity of it, of her hometown and the inhabitants she’s known all of her life.

It’s a happy life, a good one, and she wouldn’t change it for anything.

That evening, when she returns from the office, she finds Mason on the back porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams, an unlit cigarette propped between his lips. It's been years since he'd indulged the habit, not since they'd moved further out, the quiet solitude of the woods surrounding wayhaven helping to curb his over sensitivity. 

Or so she would want to believe, anyway. 

But she knows it's more than that. She's been able to glean the truth from his reactions, the way he folds into her after a long absence after his duties with the agency call him away - and she knows that in some ways, she acts as a salve, softening the extreme aspects of his heightened senses, blunting the harsh edges of it.

He's turning to face her before she can get out a greeting, his dark eyes soft in the muted glow of the porch light. Wordlessly, he opens his arms, and she goes, as she always does, to fall into them.

His breath is soft against her hair as he tilts his head, pressing in closer, the tip of his nose chill against her skin as he buries his face in her hair, breathing her in.

They stay like that for a long moment, the sounds of the forest around them, wrapped around each other, appreciating each other’s company.

Her voice is hushed when she finally speaks, reluctant to break the silence that has fallen between them. 

"What are you doing out here?"

He smiles, and it’s gentle, slow and easy as he pulls back, hands settling at her waist, the strands of his dark hair dancing around them in the warm breeze. It’s a beautiful summer night, the sky clear and empty, revealing the full expanse of the milky way above them, glittering and beautiful.

"Enjoying the view." He admits, just as soft, before his gaze slides to hers, his lips curling into a smirk, storm grey eyes glittering in the muted amber glow. “Got a better one now though.”

The gleam in his eye is unmistakable, even in the dim light, and her brow raises, even as she gives an answering laugh. “Good to see you too.”

His arms tighten around her frame, pulling her back into an embrace, and they sway briefly, enjoying the moment, before she continues, “I got you something.”

He scoffs against her hair. "I have everything I need right here."

She smiles against his chest, even as she feels her heart skip a beat, the same way it has for the last twenty years, feeling warmth spread through her ribcage even as she pulls away. Turning to lean against the siding, she shakes her head as he moves to follow her, nodding toward the canvas bag she’d brought out with her. “It’s in there.”

Reluctantly, he steps away, although not completely, his hand lingering at her waist as he leans over to collect it. His expression creases as he pulls out a wooden frame, rotating it until he can see what’s contained within. 

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.

(Inside the frame is an image of a young couple in a casual embrace, the brightly coloured lights of the scenery around them framing the figures with a muted glow. The scene is familiar - it’s the carnival, the same photo that had been taken that night, restored and reprinted. The frame itself is made from a tree felled from the woods around them, a douglas fir, carefully carved under the gentle guidance of the leader of unit bravo, who’d taken to the task with patience and care.)

He glances back up at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light, and she answers his unspoken question. 

"It's been twenty years."

His eyes shutter, and he looks away. "I know."

\--

They don’t talk much after the gift, but Mason has never been ones for words, preferring actions - and this, as much as everything else, has remained unchanged over the years. He takes her into his arms and then into the bed they share together, his mouth and hands on her all consuming, chasing away the last of the lingering chill.

Later, when they’re wrapped around each other, the desire between them abated, for the moment, he gives his response, spoken into the curve of her neck, a confession in the darkness.

"It's not too late, you know. To change your mind." His voice is low, barely more than a whisper against her skin, breath warm, lips soft as they brush the column of her throat.

Her throat clenches and she swallows, hard. He hasn't addressed the topic directly since that last night, and she can see how much this admission costs him - the ease in him giving way to a quiet tension, a heaviness that sits, like a weighted thing, in the air between them.

Still, she knows the risks. Knows that she'd had her window, and missed it.

"I think it is."

He lets out a long breath, his arm tightening around her waist as he buries his face into the crook of her neck. He doesn’t say anything else, and she doesn’t expect him to.

A long moment passes, before she continues, her voice gentle, careful. “You don’t have to stay. Not for all of it.” 

"What?”

She turns in his arms to look at him. His grey eyes are sharp, fierce in the dim light that filters in from the moon outside, and she can read the tension in his features, see it in the clench of his jaw. She knows that he heard her, even if he hadn’t accepted the words themselves. 

She bites into her lip, thinking briefly of the myriad of better ways she could have approached this. 

(But, a part of her thinks, it would have always been like this: sudden and unbidden. It’s a conversation they’ve been ignoring for the past ten years.)

“Mason, I love you.” Her heart aches as she says it, and she can’t help reaching out to him, her palm finding his cheek, warm skin flushed with heat, the prickle of his stubble beneath her palm. He returns the pressure easily, his dark eyes conflicted. “But I don’t want… I’m not going to ask you to watch me die.”

A flash of pain, sharp and acute, crosses his expression, before he lets out a low growl, a soft thing that reverberates through his chest, vibrating against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

He shifts around her in a blur of movement until he’s half kneeling, half crouched over her, a hand falling to cup her face.

“Look at me. I’m not going anywhere.”

The conviction in the words is sharp, angry, tinted with grief. He’s waiting for her confirmation, and so she gives it, and then he's kissing her, deeply, and she can taste his desperation, in the slant of the kiss, in the salt that rolls down his cheek into their panting mouths, into the shape of his mouth as he brings her in closer.

Her hands raise to hold him in turn, burying themselves within the soft tresses of his hair, and the kiss gentles, turning into a slow, tender caress that makes her heart _ache._

They break apart with a soft gasp, and his eyes are fierce, even with the brittle edge to his words as he repeats himself, yet again. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	2. pillow talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason stays over. feat. mismatched socks and conversations about ghosts.
> 
> \--
> 
> _"This okay?"_
> 
> _"Yeah."_
> 
> _His hand finds her hair, running through the strands as she presses closer, nestling her face against his chest. She can hear his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady; feel the life of him here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a gift for @evilbunnyking who deserves soft things, and recently surprised me with her greek (!!) M detective, Helena 'El' Papas. 
> 
> a gentle exploration of casual intimacy, and the early days of a deeper relationship.

Helena still can't get used to the nightmares.

They’re less frequent, now that time has passed, but haven’t yet lost their sharpness; their potency. The images are as vivid as that first night, the pain acute - and it’s because of the nature of the wound, she has been told: the traces of venom in the bite leaving their own mark, a sense memory.

(The scar always aches, after.)

\--

It's dark when she wakes in the early hours of the morning, fingers scrambling to tear back the bedsheets, the material clinging and claustrophobic against her heated skin.

Her heart is sprinting within her chest, leaving her breathless, and it takes her a moment to find her bearings, to recognise the warm colours of her apartment, its soft edges distinct from the harsh dereliction of the warehouse where unit bravo had found her.

It's always the same dream, the same night. The makeshift clinic, the escape. Metal and shadows and sharp teeth, the sickly, cloying fear that had stuck to her teeth and tightened her throat as she limped through trash-strewn halls, not knowing what waited around the corner.

"El."

Her name, spoken softly, comes from the shadows on the other side of the apartment, his voice carrying well in the quiet of the early morning. Peering through the semi-lit darkness, she makes out the amber halo of a lit cigarette, the orange flicker illuminating the sharp lines of his features. 

Mason.

He's perched on the sill, the window cracked so that the smoke doesn't crowd the apartment. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, she remembers, stacks of paperwork balanced precariously around her, Mason's arm tucked around her waist as he'd flicked through some files of his own, searching for - something, a name, she thinks.

She doesn't remember making the move over to the bed; he must have carried her over himself, and the thought curls in the center of her chest, soft and warm.

He's watching her now, grey eyes shadowed in the flickering light, a crease furrowing the space between his brows.

She can’t help but wonder how long he has been there. The whole time, probably.

Stubbing out the remains of the cigarette into the tray he’d balanced on the sill, he slides the window shut and comes over to the edge of the bed. His hand traces along the arch of her cheek, gentle as his fingers slip back to tuck a messy curl behind her ear. 

Catching her eye, he asks, "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Just a bad dream," she says after a moment, her voice carefully neutral, but the way he looks at her, stare unwavering, tells her that he doesn’t believe her, not for a second.

He doesn’t push it however, letting his hand fall back to his lap, following her movements as she reaches out to take it. "Not much I can do about dreams."

"What, no good at fighting ghosts?"

He lets out a soft laugh, a low rumble in the quiet. “It’s usually better when I can punch them.”

Tilting his head to the side, he looks at her, grey eyes steady and unwavering. There’s not much she can hide from him when he looks at her like that.

"Is that what we're fighting, ghosts?"

Her smile slips. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

She looks away. Feels the mattress tilt under his weight as he sits himself down on the edge of the bed. The length of his thigh presses against hers, warm and steadying.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

The sky is starting to brighten outside, low slung clouds tinted pink and orange over the crest of trees. It's quiet, that moment before dawn where everything lies still, and she's reminded of that first night on the roof, seeing the forest spread out like a painting before them, the peace she found there.

She lets out a low sigh, glancing back to find his eyes on her, irises like rings of silver, pupils blown in the low light. He’s wearing just his henley, the soft material thin in the chill of the room, and she can see tension in the line of his jaw, beneath the stubble.

"You look cold over there.” Dropping her hand to her side, she pats the space on the bed beside her. "There’s space enough for two"

He meets her gaze, a dark brow rising. “You propositioning me?”

She snorts, pushing her hair back from her face as she gives him a _look_. “Actually, no.” 

He gives her a smirk, wide and slow, and she rolls her eyes, a smile finding her lips all the same. 

The atmosphere between them is easy, comfortable, and she can see him considering her offer, lower lip caught between his teeth as he glances over the pillows and comforter.

This is still - new, between them. Comfortable intimacy, and nothing more. Time spent in each other's company, for the sake of it.

She waits for him to come to a decision, the crease between his brows smoothing away.

“I’m going to need more space than that, sweetheart.”

She meets his lopsided grin with one of her own, something warm and sweet blooming within her chest, before she scoots over, nodding towards the window.

“Leave your shoes over there.”

He nods, the heat of him moving away as he leans down, tugging at the laces of his boots. He’s wearing mismatched socks, she can't help but notice - one plain, the other decorated with some sort of spiral pattern - and it pulls a small laugh from her as he yanks them off too, tucking them into the leather tongue before tossing the lot across the room.

She opens her mouth to make a smart comment, but then he’s climbing onto the bed beside her, all warmth and cedar and cigarette smoke. His movements are awkward at first, and he can't be completely comfortable in those jeans, but he settles easily enough as his arms find her waist, pulling her close.

His lips are soft as they brush against her temple, his voice a low murmur. "This okay?"

"Yeah."

His hand finds her hair, running through the dark curls as she presses closer, nestling her face against his chest. She can hear his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady; a reminder that she is here, that this is real.

His voice is a low rumble beneath her ear, vibrating in his chest as he asks, “You wake up like this often?"

She lets out a breath, feeling the tension fall away, like grains of sand between her fingers. "Every now and then. More so, lately."

He hums, accepting that. He settles his hand at her nape, thumb rubbing against the soft hairs there.

Silence falls between them again as exhaustion drags at the edges of her consciousness, and she feels herself slipping towards sleep. 

She almost doesn’t hear him when he continues, "You should call me. Next time."

Her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

_I will,_ she says, or at least she thinks she does.

In the morning, she won’t remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos greatly appreciated~ Come chat with me about wayhaven on my tumblr (Ejunkiet)!


End file.
